


More Care to Stay Than Will to Go

by IcyKali



Series: Dayoun Timeline [7]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Angst, Depression, Feelings Realization, Fix-It of Sorts, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, NB Weyoun and Damar, Other, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Survivor Guilt, Tora Ziyal Lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:29:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29933442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IcyKali/pseuds/IcyKali
Summary: After the War, Weyoun and Damar go on a date and struggle to find some semblance of normalcy even as heavy clouds of trauma hang over them. The past still lives in Weyoun’s mind as it would in the mind of any Cardassian.
Relationships: Damar/Weyoun (Star Trek)
Series: Dayoun Timeline [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2116638
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story will bring this series to a close! I expect it to be three or four chapters once complete, but I’m not sure.

“Hey, you regnar.” 

Weyoun had heard Damar approaching, of course. He had both the weight and the measured quality of Damar’s footfalls memorized in case he would never again hear them. However, he wanted to savor the sound before turning to face him. Even though Weyoun’s eyes were far weaker than his ears, seeing Damar’s scales in-person seemed a monumental affair. Nevertheless, Weyoun mustered his strength and looked him in the eyes. “Hello, Clone Ranger,” Weyoun said. “After all, you are a clone ranger yourself now, aren’t you?” The first impression in Weyoun’s mind was that Damar Two truly did appear identical to Damar's previous iteration, despite the difference in sex. “You really do look and sound exactly the same. I couldn't be sure from a subspace call.” Weyoun tilted his head in wonder. 

Damar gave him a half-hearted glare, and Weyoun expected a jibe that implied lifting Damar’s well-worn nickname for him indicated a lack of originality, but none came. “That's right… and I can tell you I didn't become any more beautiful,” Damar said. Unsurprising that the Founders allowed him to keep his sense of aesthetics. After all, in the past thousand years they had managed to work out that the lack of it was an impediment to diplomacy. “You, on the other hand, are obviously worse for wear.” He was staring down at Weyoun’s hairline. 

“Yes, I'm also sad you missed my first grey hair, Corat.” Weyoun looked askance, not ready to process the fact that Damar would certainly be stroking said hairs if given permission. In Cardassian culture, the arrival of grey hair was considered a triumph. “No comment on my new apparel?” He spread his arms, flaunting his blue, silken blouse. It featured no mesh of patterns, for Weyoun had no pride in what he used to be, but it was asymmetrical and tied to the side. It also featured uneven sleeves, but not because Weyoun wanted to pay tribute to Vorta culture—he simply liked being able to compare the texture of his undershirt with the smooth fabric of the blouse. “Counselor Telnorri thought a change of outfit was an important step. Of course, you’re free to cry into my old suit whenever you like.” Not having to force himself to smile after making biting remarks was such a relief. 

“I will admit, that new outfit is far less hideous.” Damar’s eyes kept darting around, not looking directly at Weyoun’s clothing. His cheeks and spoon were gaining their own dusty blue tinge. “But your old suit is too ugly to even be a handkerchief. Besides, you only want me to cry to make yourself feel less pathetic.” 

“Listen to me, Corat. I never _cried_ … where anyone else could see me do so.”

Damar nodded. The lines of his usual glower seemed scored less deep. Weyoun hoped it was because his days were thrumming with happiness and not simply because his body was fresh. “I try not to do that either, as a rule. But I haven’t been doing well with it lately.” 

If only they had the energy to fill the vacated tailor shop where they had arranged to meet with the sound of bitter laughter. Conceptually, it would have fit well with the abandoned stock, toolkits, and string sitting there attracting a musty smell. It seemed dimly-lit to Weyoun, but he imagined Damar could see the many colors surrounding them far more clearly. After savoring the sound of the two of them taking a simultaneous deep breath, Weyoun said, “It’s a shame your Central Command armor was rendered unsalvageable. It made for an excellent foothold.” 

“I think I’m too tired to give you any rides, Weyoun, even if it would be nice to feel your body heat against my ridges.” 

“A very lurid thing to say. How shameless of you.” 

“Maybe it was inspired by the getup you’re wearing.” Damar gestured to Weyoun’s blouse. “You’re the shameless one.” 

Weyoun ran the side tie between his fingers. “I did select this shade knowing it was considered provocative by your people. We’re both sickened by how many people view you as a hero—perhaps I imagined causing you discomfort would be a welcome return to more typical times for you.” 

Even though it was rather dark and Weyoun’s sight was surely not sharp enough to discern such a subtle change, he had a feeling Damar’s eyes were sparkling. “I appreciate your generosity,” Damar said. They held a mutual understanding that Weyoun had actually chosen the specific color because it matched Damar’s blush and complemented his eyes. It was also, by many of the aesthetic standards Weyoun had studied in his long existence, the opposite of the Founder Leader’s preferred orange. Brushing past a tabletop scattered with tools, Damar reached down and stroked the woodgrain of a miniature spool cabinet. “Did you make this our meeting place to give me the chance to watch you playing with thread again?” 

Weyoun slowly shook his head. “I’m afraid you’re not the only one who’s tired,” he said. “I thought it would be prudent to bring you somewhere both peacefully quiet and less likely to invite interruption than either of our quarters.” A half-truth. The idea of being alone together in their quarters might have evoked too much of a rush, and Weyoun did not want to risk retreating, not at this stage. And he did not want to meet Damar in a public setting because it invited eavesdropping and prying eyes—he could not trust himself to remain in control. “Odo also became preoccupied with other tasks and never got around to installing surveillance systems up to his usual standard. After dealing with our communications being rudely monitored, I thought we’d both appreciate a little privacy. That being said, he’ll find us sooner or later.” He felt the urge to scowl every time his thoughts turned to Odo, and he allowed himself to indulge in it. 

“Let’s face him and the rest of the station together, Weyoun.” Despite Damar’s crushing workload, lack of armor, and all the tears Weyoun had witnessed him shed—not to mention all the other streams he had no doubt cried while tucked away—he seemed more stalwart. Strangely, this new glow appeared to stem from being sincere. It would take time to grow accustomed to this new phenomenon, for Weyoun had always considered deception a strength. 

Turning to the doors, Weyoun spread his arms smoothly, as if they were wings. “I’ll protect you,” he said, with the same intonation he used to employ when stating his intention to crush enemies of the Dominion. But this time, his voice brimmed with far more feeling. 

* * *

_Weyoun awoke to the all-encompassing drone of a small vessel’s auxiliary power. His body stung and he recalled what it had felt like to be covered with the marks of electrical treeing after one unfortunate mission to a planet with an overactive magnetic field. He must have been shot with a disruptor set on “stun,” which was just as much of a rarity as being struck by lightning. Perhaps he had been taken hostage by an enemy who did not know of his suicide implant or status as a clone. However, after opening his eyes he soon disabused himself of that notion, because Damar was hunched over the control panel, rubbing at his thigh—a nervous tic. Weyoun pushed himself up, loud enough for Damar to hear but without speaking. A recent command from the Founder had been for Weyoun to not speak unless prompted, a painful edict he had brought upon himself by letting one of his stress-relieving outbursts get out of hand._

_With a wrench of his head that looked rather painful, Damar fixed him with a wide-eyed reptile stare. “I know you might be alarmed, but everything’s under control. Halfway to the facility we were ordered to survey, our systems malfunctioned and we were left dead in space, but I was able to send out a distress signal before everything stopped responding,” he blurted out the explanation as if it were a speech he had been rehearsing._

_As Weyoun approached and looked over Damar’s shoulder, he noticed his ridges were tight with stress. “Were you injured? Which of our enemies was behind this? I imagine this was sabotage.”_

_The majority of the console was dark. Communications were offline, and the navigational array was not responding. Still, Damar kept staring at them as if there would be a change. “No, fortunately I wasn’t injured. It must have been a Cardassian saboteur, someone who had access to this vessel in the past and knew we’d be taking it today.” Weyoun remembered—they had selected this smaller ship for the mission because they had not wanted to broadcast their importance by taking Weyoun’s warship. It made sense that whoever had disabled their systems walked within the Dominion’s own ranks._

_Usually, Damar was not particularly opaque. Before Weyoun had trained him to be confident and own himself, he had been too listless to bother masking his emotions. Once he did grow to suit his role as legate, he had become increasingly emotive in an un-Cardassian way. Damar was both typical and atypical, making him the most generic of all. But now, it was obvious he was keeping something from Weyoun. “If there’s anything else, please, say it,” Weyoun said. “Who attacked me, if the saboteur isn’t on board?”_

_“Don’t panic,” Damar replied, in a clipped tone. “You weren’t attacked. You went to investigate the engine malfunction and I tried to stop you from going into the engine room, but you were a stubborn bastard as usual.” His tone was less vitriolic than it normally was during their arguments over whether or not Weyoun was expendable. “A conduit blew out next to you and I had to carry you all the way back here.”_

_Weyoun’s eyes narrowed as he cocked his head to the side. “Careful. I’m beginning to suspect you know this saboteur and intend to protect them.”_

_“What?” He made a show of grimacing, and paired with his wide-eyed stare it was especially comical. “Why would I want to protect someone who just tried to kill us? Especially now that the Cardassian resistance has ties to the Federation. It isn’t even about my own people anymore.”_

_“Oh, I don’t know.” Weyoun mimicked the wide-eyed look. He took a step back, wanting Damar to see the way he pretended to wilt with sorrow. “But I do know that I wasn’t knocked out by an explosion. I’ve died countless times, and been injured countless more… you didn’t really think I haven’t memorized what weapons fire feels like, did you?” When Damar did not answer, Weyoun added, “How foolish.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Perhaps you shot me yourself during our disagreement.”_

_Damar’s ridges locked up and he ceased moving it hand across his thigh to grip it hard instead. His head was bowed, the shadows cast by his orbital ridges obscuring his expression, but Weyoun knew it must be even more panicked because he could hear Damar’s breathing quicken._

_“Or is it incompetence you’re covering up? Are you even more prone to fumbling with a weapon than I thought?” Weyoun asked. “Don’t worry, I’m used to witnessing your mistakes, if a mistake is what this was.”_

_Without warning and against everything Weyoun had ever recorded in his reports, Damar sprang from his seat and stood up to his full height. “No, this was not a mistake!” he shouted, and the sound of his resolute voice echoed in Weyoun’s ears and set his entire body alight._

_For a moment, Weyoun was too taken aback to demand that Damar elaborate. He felt himself flushing at the memories of all those times he had flustered Damar early in their acquaintance, by snapping at him as an infatuated Cardassian would. What had spurred Damar to reverse their roles?_

_“In fact, for once I’m certain I’m not making a mistake. That I’m doing what’s right.” Damar approached, then closed the distance between them by gently touching Weyoun’s forearm._

_The sensation of Damar’s claws tickling him through his sleeve brought Weyoun out of his daze. “Are you… admitting to having shot me on purpose? Why?” he asked. “I’m afraid I’m feeling rather lost at the moment,” he tried to return to his usual disaffected cadence, but he sounded too wistful._

_“I know. But I need you to trust me, Weyoun. And before you argue and try to claim that goes against your training—you already do trust me. There’s plenty of proof of that fact.” Damar always did specialize in facts, figures, and proofs._

_“Is there.” He drew his fingers over to Damar’s hand, feeling the tiny scales on the back of it. Although the overall impression would have been one of smoothness for most individuals, Weyoun was familiar enough with Damar’s body to feel know the subtle variations throughout his scales and skin. Every protrusion, every dip. “Tell me,” Weyoun continued, “what proof do you have of the fact that you’re doing the right thing?”_

_Damar smiled slightly, tiredly. It was not a victorious, power hungry smile, nor was it a rueful one. “There’s this.” And with that, he pressed his forehead to his, and where they met Weyoun felt his warmth seeping into Damar’s pleasantly cool spoon until their temperatures reached equilibrium. Weyoun understood that the spoons of a Cardassian granted them specialized navigational senses and helped them orient based on the positions of celestial bodies. Even beyond what pressing foreheads normally signified for Cardassians—already far, far too much for Weyoun to comprehend at the moment—perhaps Damar was suggesting Weyoun was his guiding star._

_Ultimately, Weyoun did trust Damar, and even when he eventually revealed the truth of all he had done and arranged, Weyoun felt neither doubt nor regret._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exhaustion, rage, and guilt plague Weyoun as we learn more about the time he has spent stranded on DS9.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Ellie (darthpumpkinspice) for editing!

As soon as they left Garak’s abandoned shop, they raced up the closest flight of stairs to reach the highest level of the Promenade. Since the War ended, this area of Deep Space Nine carried the least foot traffic—most of the population who still remained clustered around Quark’s below—and it seemed the least likely place for the rest of the visiting Cardassian delegation to run into Damar and insist he rejoin them. Weyoun and Damar had no destination in mind as they strolled across the walkway, and they did not attempt to reconstruct the old running commentary their bickering had once formed.

Weyoun slowed his pace, and Damar did the same. “Are your legs getting tired?” Damar asked. 

Weyoun shook his head. He drew closer and tilted his head toward Damar, actions Weyoun had been hesitant to allow himself to take before, but this was a matter of importance. Whispering into Damar’s ear, he said, “As we suspected, Odo is following us.”

“Where is he now?” Damar replied, in a hushed tone. 

Slowing down further, Weyoun focused solely on the soundscape, and Damar stopped moving in order to make it easier to perceive. “...He’s shapeshifted into a bolt affixed to one of the overheard vaults behind us,” Weyoun said. “Unfortunately for Odo, he didn’t realize that I may be the solid most attuned to the sound of members of his species changing form.” 

The smile Damar gave him upon hearing Weyoun use the word “species” was brief, but still visible. “For underestimating you, he’ll suffer.” 

“Of course he will.” In the past, Weyoun might have said it with a grin, but he knew Damar already understood how intimidating Weyoun could be, and thus there was no need to prove it with a show of strength. But the flickering satisfaction he felt at this was soon spoiled by the sound of someone lanky racing across the walkway, barreling toward them. A quiet “No,” was all Weyoun got out before he saw the blur that was Jake Sisko trying to get between him and Damar. 

“It’s great to see you, Damar!” Jake exclaimed. He was holding a PADD and his rather outdated, chunky digital pen. “I already had the chance to talk to Doctor—I mean, Castellan Lang—and I've been looking all over for you. I didn’t think you'd be with Weyoun!” Although Weyoun resented the new Castellan for keeping Damar harried to the point of breakdowns, he had to feel a spot of sympathy for her over this.

“ _Are_ you excited to see me?” Damar was wearing an expression Weyoun had hoped not to see again—that look he used to get whenever Dukat ordered him to do some ludicrous thing like resolve a spat with Ziyal. “And why wouldn’t you have thought I’d be with Weyoun?” Damar asked. “You must have seen us working together back when we were two cogs in the Dominion’s machine.”

“Of course I’m excited to have the chance to interview the new face of Cardassia!” Jake said. “It kind of makes sense, you do look like a lot like other Cardassians.” With that, Damar shrank away, and Weyoun’s temper flared. How dare he callously fuel Damar’s impostor syndrome? And that misfired joke—only Weyoun was permitted to describe Damar as generic! 

“And I guess most of us here on Deep Space Nine thought Weyoun had a grudge against you!” Jake drove on. “You should have heard what he said whenever we updated him on the Cardassian Resistance. ‘How nice to know Damar is still alive and well,’” Jake imitated Weyoun’s deadened tone. “I’ve never even heard a Vulcan sound that cold.”

Damar and Weyoun shared a look. During their subspace calls prior to the Cardassian delegation finally visiting the station, Damar had witnessed for himself Weyoun’s frigid demeanor and discovered why it had to exist. 

However, now Jake was testing the strength of its glacial walls. “Maybe I could interview both of you, for a piece diving into why two top Dominion officials defected,” Jake said. Why was he calling a hypothetical article a “piece” if it was intended to be complete in and of itself? Then again, Weyoun supposed it could in fact be considered a piece of _something_ , but not what the would-be journalist intended. 

“What a lovely idea.” Weyoun pursed his lips and exhumed his most sickeningly soothing voice. He strode forward, causing Jake to stumble backward, which gave Weyoun the opportunity to place himself in front of Damar like a shield. “But first, there are a few questions I’d like to ask you.”

“Really? Like what?” 

“Tell me, when you gaze down at Quark’s from up here, do you ever think about what terrible injuries you might sustain if you were to fall?” 

“No… I mean, that’s what the rails are for. I wouldn’t fall, not unless somebody pushed me.” Jake turned to look down at the lower level, so he did not see Weyoun closing in. 

The feeling of Damar’s claws on his shoulder made Weyoun hesitate long enough for two people to rush over, one marching and the other taking short, softer steps. The former footfalls belonged to Colonel Kira, whose approaching angry stride Weyoun had heard many times since he had been left stranded on this makeshift prison, and the latter belonged to Ziyal. Even the tinkle of Kira’s earring was irritating, because Weyoun knew what it heralded.

“Listen, Jake, the interview’s off,” Kira said, while glaring at Weyoun.

“What? Why?” Jake glanced between her and Weyoun, then wrote furiously on his PADD. “Hey, this tension will be great for dramatic effect.” 

“Weyoun just tried to murder you! Maybe that’s why!” Kira snapped.

“Huh? No, he didn’t. And even if he did, journalism has an inherent danger to it, Major.”

Next, Ziyal tried her hand at it. She put a hand on Jake’s shoulder and said into his ear, “Jake, I have important things to discuss with Damar, my old mentor, and Nerys needs to talk to him about the political situation. Could you give us some space?” The soft undertones in her voice gave away that the two of them had some sort of connection. Weyoun cringed. He had thought it just another one of Dukat’s delusions when he had claimed they were dating—what could Ziyal possibly see in him? She had been held in a prison camp for years as a child and she still had a better grasp of Federation literature than Jake did.

“Okay, I get it,” Jake said. “I’ll stand back and take notes.” 

“She means it’s… it concerns classified information,” Damar said. He glanced up and back to the vantage point where Odo was observing the scene they were making. Damar winced and continued, “Like you said, I’m the, uh, new face of Cardassia, and because of my position not everyone gets to have an audience with me. I mean, only the people I deem worthy can do that…?” 

Weyoun dusted off the “You’re ridiculous and I’m proud to be a better Cardassian than you are, even though I’m a Vorta” look and directed it at Damar, who finally removed his claws from Weyoun’s shoulder. Damar’s wince became a full-blown glower. An adequate reward. Free to approach Jake again, Weyoun did so. “He’s only trying to be polite, but there’s no reason to stand on ceremony, is there? What he means is that if you were to overhear any of this conversation he would be forced to have you executed, and I’m sure we can all agree what a tragedy it would be for the life of Captain Sisko’s son to end in such a way.” Memories of standing beside Damar and presiding over the interrogation of prisoners and their executions carried so much nostalgia, but the pangs of guilt formed a barrier preventing Weyoun from dwelling on the thought any longer. He barely felt relief as Jake fled, and did not catch his parting words. 

Ziyal watched him leave before quickly turning back to face Weyoun. “You should be ashamed of yourself for being so cruel to him!” She appeared to have been using Kira as a model for her demanding tone. 

“I don’t think I was cruel to him in the slightest. I was warning him of a risk,” Weyoun said, but with the irritant gone, his voice returned to being level and unemotive. 

“Besides,” Ziyal said, looking up to Damar, “Damar wouldn’t do anything like that. He’s wiped the old mirror clean!” A Bajoran expression? Weyoun had at one time tried to gauge Ziyal’s changing attitudes from a distance, but monitoring details like Kira’s mentoring of a civilian hybrid had no longer been a priority as the tides of the War had turned and Dukat’s time had come to a close.

Damar held himself uncomfortably rigid, his hands hanging awkwardly at his sides. Weyoun felt a surge of guilt at the fact that he could not bring himself to touch Damar’s palms. “I admit I tried to implement policies to secure the future of our people. Our people, which now includes the Vorta and Jem’Hadar.” In spite of radiating pain, Damar spoke effusively. It was no wonder Castellan Lang made frequent use of Damar’s oratory skill. “Now is the time for healing, not for asking invasive questions of the recently-emancipated.”

Weyoun saw Kira shift and heard her heave an exasperated sigh as she remained in a protective position behind Ziyal. 

“I was happy to be asked about what I’d been through when I was freed as a child!” Ziyal said, as if she was not still a child. “Though I am glad you’ve finally settled things with Weyoun. Sometimes you two looked like the best of friends, but other times it seemed like all your interactions were just part of one long argument.”

To Weyoun’s concern, Damar did not even flush.

Ziyal continued, “Why did you say you ‘admit’ you tried your best, like you don’t believe it? Or that you’re ashamed? You had a stable position as legate, Damar, but chose to leave that behind to fight for everyone. Garak’s plan wouldn’t have meant anything without—”

The sounds of her voice, of the footfalls of people walking past, of the crowd at Quark’s below, of every impact, clatter, and indistinct conversation all bled into a single mass of noise and blurred colors swirling around Weyoun and Damar like a storm, keeping them distant even as they stood so near to each other. Before he could lose all sense of direction Weyoun held out his arms, a mix of beseeching and praying. “I’m afraid our friend Damar has been under immense pressure as of late. As sad as it sounds, all of these kind words can simply make it more stressful to live up to such expectations, especially when one must share as much of oneself with the people as Damar.” Weyoun brought his hands together. “The trials of living as a public figure. We can all relate.” 

Damar tapped the guardrail to draw Weyoun’s attention. Damar’s fingers were twitching with longing, and a glance was all Weyoun could handle of the sight. 

Though Ziyal seemed somewhat placated, Kira did not. “Don’t you think it’s selfish, Weyoun, to be kind to Damar but not to anybody else?” she asked. “If you’re only ever going to stand up for him, you’re no better than when you were siding with the Dominion.” 

“Hypocritical words from such an unpleasant woman. I must say, insulting your taster isn’t wise. Perhaps I’ll let you be poisoned next time.” 

“You don’t get to talk about hypocrisy if you’re going to stand here and threaten me by saying you’ll stop doing the job you chose to feel useful!”

Ziyal hissed, a sad and drawn-out tone. “Nerys, this isn’t helpful.” As she moved in, entering the bubble reserved for Weyoun and Damar, the ruffles of her dress rustled and scratched. “Weyoun, I know how it feels to be homeless. To be here on Deep Space Nine because there’s nowhere else to go.”

“Yes, you relate to Garak just as he relates to me,” Weyoun said. 

“You have to forge _new_ connections. Garak might be a good start, but he’s not here and you are. And Damar certainly isn’t going to be here much longer.”

The squall hit again. Weyoun trembled, feeling soreness swelling throughout his body in time with the gales of noise. His suicide implant had been inoperable for months, but the sensations were similar to those he had to weather each time he had activated one and cut a lifespan short by his own hand. He remembered the subspace call he had with Damar, when Damar had fallen into despondency upon the deactivation procedure of his own implant. Weyoun had recounted stories of work on Deep Space Nine as Damar had lain in his room, the lights out, and Weyoun could barely discern Damar’s ridges against the black floor. Though Weyoun had heard Damar’s breathing slow and his body uncurl, even now he regretted being unable to express his feelings more fully. He should have assured Damar he had no reason to feel guilty for craving the help of Weyoun of all people—it had been obvious Damar felt like a burden. 

“Ziyal, you can’t be suggesting I’m leaving Weyoun stranded here in this prison!” Damar’s resounding anger reached out and lifted Weyoun from the grasp of his regrets. 

“But I'm saying he doesn't have to be alone, and it's not a prison—”

Damar whirled around. “Odo, if this isn’t a prison, get down here and stop looming over Weyoun! Refuse, and you’re no better than any of the Founders who made him their slave!”

The slithering rush that accompanied the shapeshifting of a Founder was a blow to Weyoun. When Odo arced to land next to Kira, startling Ziyal in the process, Weyoun staggered back, pretending to simply be surprised. It was only an excuse to brush against Damar and feel supported.

“I take it Weyoun hasn't informed you of how many times he’s disturbed the peace since his arrival on DS Nine?” Odo took his usual shape and crossed his arms over his chest. “Only two weeks ago, he ransacked Quarks, overturning tables, smashing bottles, breaking plates—and he refused to work to pay off his debt!”

“I do enjoy the sounds of shattering glass,” Weyoun said, not bothering to smile. 

Odo ignored him. “Weyoun has the privacy of his quarters and of his appointments with the counselor. But out here on the Promenade, someone has to monitor his movements.” 

Damar refused to deflate. “As a matter of fact, Weyoun did discuss that incident with me, Constable. What he told me was that the authorities of this station refused to let him—a Cardassian citizen, mind you—leave the station, even upon news of my…” He scowled further. “My… resurrection. What right do you have to restrict the movements of a newly-free person, and not just any person, but a valued political figure? It would have been useful for me to hear Weyoun’s in-person counsel on the Vorta Resettlement Program, don't you think?” 

Kira laughed brightly. “You’re more passionate now than you were during the Resistance! It’s nice to see you take a stand for once in your life,” she said, and Weyoun was determined to let her be poisoned. “But even what you’re saying now reveals the problem. Weyoun _was_ a powerful Dominion politician and strategist during the War. Where one person sees a slave, others see a collaborator, and far more people than your own demand reparations.”

“But I’m telling you, he was obviously a slave!” Damar snapped. His anger seemed to seep into Weyoun, healing his hurt and sweeping him away like a wave, pushing him into action of his own. Crushing an enemy by Damar’s side, a fantasy Weyoun could make real. 

“Indeed.” Weyoun cocked his head. “And I must say, I thought the Bajorans valued protest, considering their conduct during the Dominion’s occupation of this station.” 

Everyone recoiled, and despite Weyoun’s weak eyes, their sharp intakes of breath and jolting motions made their horror obvious. Weyoun froze, his fantasy evaporating as the thunderclouds of guilt roiled around him, the static overtaking his senses. He was vaguely aware of Kira, red-faced and shouting as Odo held her back, but the words did not take. Weyoun turned his head to the side, an involuntary action, and beheld the people on the lower level. They formed a field of colors, like raindrops on a window catching the light, but he could hear the rhythms of their lives, independent yet interdependent. These were not his enemies. He had taken ones they held dear from them. He turned back to Damar, whose expression was stony and wide-eyed as he desperately tried to plaster over the damage Weyoun had done. For the first time in Weyoun’s exhausting existence, he genuinely thought it fortunate he had never been deemed fit for telekinetic powers. He envisioned even more lives he would have carelessly snuffed out.

“I did tell Quark before I rampaged through his establishment that it wasn’t personal, so I’m sure if I tell him my business is for the benefit of one of his most valued customers, he would allow me to visit the bar and bring Damar a non-alcoholic drink to try, since I know even the smell of alcohol makes him queasy these days,” Weyoun spat a slew of meaningless words, the first that came to mind. He fled, heading for the nearest stairwell, the sounds of his harried steps joining those of all the others. But right as he touched the railing to the spiral staircase, he felt Damar’s claws against his arm, preventing his descent. 

“Wait!” Damar snapped. “I’ll go with you!”  
  
“You will not!” Weyoun spun around, and tried to push Damar away. “I wouldn’t want you to get nauseated! You’ve vomited enough already!”

“And look at how you’ve been doing by yourself! I’m not letting you run away, you bastard!” 

“However I’ve been doing, it can’t compare to the streams of tears you’ve cried and how you’ve shivered on cold floors! You _will_ let me perform one small act of service for you!”

Up above, Weyoun could hear another conversation progressing while he and Damar argued. “I don’t understand, what is this fight even about?” Ziyal asked. 

“Oh, Ziyal, you’ll understand one of these days,” Kira said. “Odo, these two idiots can safely be left alone. Let’s go.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this flashback, Weyoun realizes he is in love when he learns his entire world has been murdered by his old world.

_Weyoun did not think about how Damar had tearfully, belligerently confessed that he had not been able to withstand another day of Weyoun being “abused.” He did not think about the fact that Odo’s presence was the only detail keeping him from activating his suicide implant, or about how not long ago he had rationalized away the attempted murder of the very same being—Odo did not even consider himself to be a Founder, after all—in spite of the fact that the Founder Leader had once chastised Weyoun for not realizing she valued Odo above conquering the Alpha Quadrant. Weyoun certainly did not think about the longing he felt for Damar to one day present another argument to him, to help reveal another loophole that might allow him to target another Founder. No, all Weyoun thought about was his work to bring a swift end to this miserable conflict, and about the glow he felt in basking in Damar’s presence in an engaging setting. The glow distracted him from the ever-present twinge he felt each time he handpicked one of the Dominion’s vulnerable territories to target and let fall._

_And when Damar eventually told him, “...I’m going to miss you, Weyoun,” Weyoun did not say anything aside from, “I know, Corat,” before memorizing the sounds of his departure._

_Weyoun indulged in his duty to collect all available intelligence from his surroundings. He made it a habit to, while he typed up reports for Odo and Colonel Kira to study, lurk at the table in Quark’s that lay in the deepest shade. It was there that he overheard Captain Sisko heaving a resigned sigh. Weyoun’s head snapped up—noting the internal struggles of high-ranking individuals was always important. He saw Sisko at the table on the level above, head in his hands. He sat across from Commander Dax, recognizable due to her Federation science division uniform and her closeness with Sisko. They were framed by railing and its triangular support._

_“I just don’t know what to do,” Sisko said._

_“I think you do, Benjamin.” Dax reached across the table and put her hand on his elbow._

_“What am I going to say to say to the Provisional Government, or to Starfleet, if Weyoun explodes over this and we lose our informant?” Sisko lowered his hands. “We’ve both lost ourselves to thoughts of revenge—and we’ve seen exactly what happens when Weyoun is truly angry.”_

_Weyoun felt bile rise in his throat. If he gripped his PADD any harder, it would break, and he did not want the noise to give away his location. He grabbed the edge of the table instead, in a vain attempt to steady himself._

_“I sense a ‘but’ coming,” Dax said._

_“You sense right.” Sisko inhaled so quietly, Weyoun could not hear it. “If I hadn’t known when it happened to me… and then that information had been kept out of my hands? I would never have stayed in Starfleet, and I never would have forgiven it.” It was obvious he was referring to the death of his wife, a recurring strain of trauma running throughout his psychographic profile._

_“Then you’re going to tell him… not very politically savvy of you.”_

_“It isn’t, but I’m human, damn it,” Sisko said. This species-oriented arrogance sickened Weyoun to his core, and his body quaked. Sisko continued, “How do you suggest we conduct ourselves afterward?”_

_“Well, he’s made it obvious that he wants space, and I think we should continue to give him that space, don’t you?” Dax said. “You know what they say about respecting your elders!”_

_“What do you mean by ‘elders?’”_

_Dax looked askance, as if gauging the vastness of the station itself. “The test results came in, and based on Weyoun’s neural connections, we’ve determined that he’s been around for more than five-times longer than Dax.”_

_Sisko whistled in reply. “That’s a long time.”_  
_  
“I’m sure he’ll get through this, Benjamin. Though I think Odo should be the one to make the announcement just in case.”_

_There was motion from up above, the sound of a companionable touch accompanied by the two of them rising, and Weyoun abandoned his seat and dove into the shadows. Hidden from view, he clung the table leg like primitive Vorta might have clung to tree branches on a windy night. Once Sisko and Dax were out of earshot, Weyoun climbed out of the dark, and the PADD felt heavy in his hands. He crept back to his quarters—that cozy cell—to prepare himself and his usual arsenal of platitudes and deflections._

_By the time the three of them arrived and rang his bell, Weyoun’s lips were parched from practicing. Instead of addressing them from inside, Weyoun cut across the room to the door and opened it, stepping into the doorway to look out. He did not want to be surrounded by distracting keepsakes and remembrances. He thought he heard Odo gasp at the sight of Weyoun. Life among the solids truly had changed him. A note of disgust arose inside of Weyoun at the thought, and then even more disgust at the hypocrisy. He tilted his head to the head, feigning curiosity, to buy himself time to catch his breath._

_“Weyoun….” Odo paused to glance at Dax, who was standing off to the side with Sisko, likely to prevent Weyoun from feeling cornered or boxed-in. A ridiculous notion, since he was already their prisoner. “There has been unfortunate news from the frontlines on Cardassia Prime.”_

_“Although the resistance is holding firm,” Sisko added, “and they’ve successfully hobbled the Dominion Headquarters’ communications—”_

_“My colleague Legate Damar has been executed, I take it,” Weyoun said. He had initially intended to ask in a light tone, but that may have been disturbing and revealed suppressed sentiment via negative space. At the beat of silence that fell after this statement, he carefully brought his hands together and furrowed his brow in precisely-measured concern. “Tell me, please—did he at least have a quick death?”_

_“Yes, he did.” At least Odo knew to not keep him waiting._

_“According to our reports, he was shot in the chest by Jem’Hadar,” Dax said. Odo and Sisko turned to face her, alarmed, but she glared back unwaveringly as if to say Weyoun needed to hear this. But how dare she presume to know what he needed? She continued, “He would only have remained conscious for mere moments.” Based on her tone, thick with sympathy, she must have been recalling the death of Dax’s previous host Torias, when he was killed performing an engine test despite his spouse’s reservations. He had been known to tune her out. When the spouse’s later host—that scientist experimenting with artificial wormholes—refused Commander Dax’s affections, it was surely a punishment deserved._

_That thought enabled Weyoun to smile. He gently closed his eyes. “What a relief. You know, Damar always used to tell me that, while all Cardassians in the military undergo rigorous training to allow them to resist torture, he personally believed no amount of training would help in the end.” When he opened his eyes, he was relieved to feel no tears threatening to well up. “Although of course Damar’s death is very sad, we should take the Dominion’s swift execution as a sign that its leaders are getting desperate. We should consider ourselves fortunate. Don’t you think?”_

_“Maybe so.” Sisko’s voice was far softer than Weyoun had ever heard it outside of intercepted communications. Repulsive. “Weyoun, if you’d like to take time off, we understand.”_

_“Time off?!” Weyoun feigned shock. “You come here to announce the death of a member of the Resistance, and you think it would be all right for me to suddenly stop helping you strategize? I must say, you aren’t known to make such irresponsible command decisions.”_

_“If you’re worried you haven’t done enough for Cardassia and its people, you shouldn’t be,” Sisko said. “I fully admit to the fact that when Garak and Damar took time to conspire to remove you from the Dominion’s clutches, I didn’t expect you to cooperate. But you did, and you’ve saved countless lives. There’s nothing ‘irresponsible’ about taking time to grieve.”_

_Finally, Weyoun’s resolve crumbled and he could no longer hold back a sneer. “Really? What astonishing empathy from someone who doesn’t like me or my people!”_

_“Weyoun, I don’t have to like you to show you compassion.”_

_“Hm. Is that what you’re doing.” He turned to Dax. “And what about you?” he asked her. “Are you here to show me compassion as well? Or are you here to tell Odo he should ask me to stand on my head for your amusement?”_

_The wincing was a delight._

_“With all your time spent around Ferengi, I would have thought you’d have expected my sensitive ears!” He threw his head back and laughed. The laughter refused to stop, and he staggered and fell against the doorframe, forced to hold it for support as his body quaked._

_Apparently Dax had closed in, because the next Weyoun knew, she was standing directly before him. He could even see her spots as more than a blur, and he resisted the urge to push her away at this reminder of how near he always needed to stand to Damar to see his ridge spots._

_“Weyoun, I’m sorry,” she said. “At the time, I didn’t know much about the connection between your people and the Founders. Now I see I should have extrapolated from what we understood of Jem’Hadar, but I wasn’t thinking.”_

_The laughter finally died in Weyoun's throat. “...Dax is known to act without thinking, or rather to think with nothing but their host’s genitals.”_

_Dax rolled her eyes. “Pretending you and Damar weren’t close isn’t helping anybody. I’ve been through this myself, and I know—”_

_“No, you haven’t, and no, you don’t!” Weyoun shouted, loud enough to echo throughout the corridor and sting his own ears._

_Dax reeled back, and before she could respond, Odo shapeshifted, making his arms long enough to pull her and Sisko back. “Dax, Sisko, we should leave Weyoun alone,” he said._

_“You’re right.” Dax straightened up. “Weyoun, if you need anything, just send us a message.”_

_He hoped even she was perceptive enough to know he would not. “How like Odo to suggest fleeing.”_

_But Odo did not take the bait, and soon three of them were gone, leaving Weyoun with nothing but an empty corridor, the low droning of the station’s systems, and his own thoughts._

_He hung his head and returned to his quarters. The lights were off and he could scarcely see more than vague shapes and colors, filled in with dull grey-purple specks supplied by his own mind as it scoured the space for meaning. Weyoun had only taken two short steps before he collapsed to his knees. The cold floor was pulling him down, and he felt like he was being dragged down, sinking into a churning, ink-black ocean. Rolling onto his side, he squinted up at the distant ceiling and thought he could see storm clouds amass overhead, all at once as if in a time lapse. His arm fell against a firm, flat surface—the side of the trunk Damar had lovingly packed Weyoun’s collection into before making his escape with him. Weyoun shuddered, and rose just enough to lay his head on the trunk’s lid. According to intercepted communications, the Founder Leader’s infinite arrogance had been shaken by the discovery of Weyoun’s absent collection, even more than it had been by his and Damar’s disappearance. The missing items had convinced her, as Damar and Garak had hoped it would, that her most trusted slave had left of his own accord._

_The trunk of precious treasures became a raft, a sanctuary keeping Weyoun afloat as waves’ brutal crests crashed over his mind. To shoot one’s stubborn lover in the name of saving their life was a grand, deeply romantic gesture, lifted from the pages of Cardassian melodramas. But it was only the peak of the monument of love Damar had dedicated himself to building, the culmination of an argument that spanned years. Of course Damar had performed this intricate ritual and then proceeded to his final breath without once expecting Weyoun to reciprocate his many professions. At this understanding, the tide calmed, and Weyoun saw himself from a higher plane as the clouds embraced him, an out-of-body experience akin to any of the countless instants the telemetry of his memories had been updated, but this moment stretched on and on. Blazing brightly from his heart were fury and empathy, endlessly circling each other like a binary star. This, he understood, was the definition of the truest Cardassian form of love, and thus he loved, and thus he was a person._

_Weyoun’s fingers curled inward, stroking the pebbly texture of the lid. “Oh, Corat... you really were the archetypal Cardassian,” he murmured, “and even now that you're gone, you're still helping me to feel new things.” He smiled slightly despite himself._

_Weyoun was a person. His eyes widened, and his hands closed into fists so tight his fingernails stabbed his flesh. The Founder had debased and degraded him for brief lifetime upon brief lifetime, shackling and anchoring him to the depths of delusion, obscuring this ancestral knowledge from him. He recalled her rippling form above him on the Founders’ homeworld—a landscape Weyoun had been ordered to decorate with his own hands—with the red sun behind her, its light bubbling through the gaps in her shape. All Weyoun felt at his core was hatred and fear. He had never loved her. He longed to stand on the shore of the Great Link, palms pressed to both of Damar’s, as the binary star that was his love for him burst from his chest, channeled into a dense telekinetic ball of plasma, outshining any sun. It would sear the Founders, severing each and every one of their links, razing them and boiling them alive as, in their death throes, they would make noises like a sea of gnashing teeth before being reduced to ash._

_It took Weyoun mere hours after his epiphanies to stand, pick up his PADD, and skulk to the wardroom. When he was allowed inside, he was faced with soundless stares, because these prison wardens had thought him pathetic, and he was not pathetic. Weyoun cocked his head and grinned._

_“Weyoun... what is it you’re doing here?” Odo asked, and when Weyoun looked at him, all he saw was prey._

_“What do you think?” Weyoun asked, in his most frigid tone. “I told you my guidance was needed now more than ever.”_

_As he sat down before the stunned assembly and presented his insights—painstakingly drafted to reveal just enough to win battles while leaving out any mention of the facilities developing Damar’s line—Weyoun prided himself on not having shed even a single, solitary tear._


End file.
